


oh heartland, up yours!

by sinteresting_facts



Category: Original Work, World of Warcraft
Genre: Abduction, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Child Abuse, Endangerment of Children, Found Family, Gen, Harm to Children, Human Experimentation, Medical Experimentation, Mild Gore, Misgendering, Needles, Potentially because this is an interpretation of before and during the Gilneas starting zone, Restraints, Violence, Worgen, some shameless bouts of exposition bc im a bitch, ymmv
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-26
Updated: 2018-12-29
Packaged: 2019-09-27 17:45:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17166443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinteresting_facts/pseuds/sinteresting_facts
Summary: A look into the inner workings of Krennan Aranas' search to find the cure from the perspective of the worgen who he held as subjects.--This is an exploration of my characters and my interpretation of Canon. I try to stick to what we know for certain in lore, but I take a good amount of artistic liberties with locations and exact timelines.





	1. sped cross the plains

**Author's Note:**

> Italicized speech: Common  
> Bolded: Wolfspeak
> 
> Please heed tags, this is not a terribly lighthearted fic. 
> 
> Constructive criticism welcome! 
> 
> Title comes from "Oh Heartland, Up Yours!" by Owen Pallett, and I highly recommend listening to that as you read.

 

It’d been months since he’d woken up as a feral worgen. 

 

He didn’t remember anything, only that the moors were his home and there were terrifying creatures out there with long, loud weapons. It was with this knowledge that he set off from where he’d awoken. Everything hurt. His side was still bleeding from the bite that’d turned him, and every step seemed to take him years. It took a month to get to the outskirts of the country. He’d ran away from each hamlet, town and house he’d come across, and eventually came to the boundary lands. He wandered long trodden paths through the sparse Northern Headlands, finding the cliffs and then wandering down them out of curiosity. The sea bloomed out away from the shore, stretching out as far as the eye could see. The pup found it familiar, somehow, so he headed north along the shore, hoping to find something he could call home. He hadn’t realized he was headed in the wrong direction, and within a week, he was beyond the wall. 

 

The forests of Silverpine were nothing like the Headlands, or the seashore. The trees were tall and they creaked and swayed, the shadows were long and penetrating; nothing like the whistling of the wind over the open moors. The pup never quite felt right, the longer he’d traveled out here alone the more afraid he got. 

 

He found a pack of worgen, they called themselves the Bloodfang. He roamed with them, safe within the numbers of the pack. He grew stronger and started learning to hunt. On the day of his first real hunt, it rained, but they were all determined to push through. They traveled up a ridge, looking for deer or maybe a bear. The path was muddy, and slick, with no real flat surface. He couldn’t be blamed for slipping, he couldn’t be blamed for tumbling over the edge, down the slope, and into unfamiliar territory.

He’d lost his pack and subsequently had gotten himself completely lost. With a heavy heart, he went back to wandering. No matter how much he howled, no matter how he searched, his pack couldn’t seem to find him. He knew they were out there, he just had to look more. Over the next month, he wandered back down south through the valley. The Wall loomed ever closer as his steps took him towards it. He couldn’t have known.

 

He awoke one morning in a little dugout den, one he’d found. It was likely made by a badger of some sort, but it was empty now. He was hungry, and as he stretched and clawed his paws through the dirt, he decided he would hunt today. His stomach rumbled, so with a final stretch he trotted off into the underbrush. The trees creaked and swayed as they usually did, but the sickly birds and squirrels were quiet, offering not even a peep. He looked around, ears perked forward curiously as he tried to find anything to pursue. An hour passed fruitlessly, and the pup was beginning to feel more and more frustrated. His stomach was still empty, and so he was still hungry. He sat in a clearing, in front of a thicket of bushes, looked like some sort of shiny leaf and bramble mixture. He very petulantly decided to sit there until prey came—the logic of it was lost on him, he was little more than a puppy. 

 

Around midday he heard rustling in the bushes, and his heart leapt. He got ready, getting on all fours, and lowering himself to the ground. He expected a rabbit, or a squirrel. Instead, a stag came striding into the clearing. It must have been 8 feet from ground to horns, and the pup squeaked, scrambling back. The stag looked at him, stepping forward towards the tiny creature, clearly curious, but the pup was spooked. He jumped back again, right into something that was not just a shiny bramble. A rusted bear trap that was camouflaged in the bushes enclosed around his ankle with a sickening snap, and he screamed. The sound made the stag kick up and turn back into the forest, hooves thundering against the forest ground. 

He let out a pitiful, choked whine, tears streaming from his eyes as the wound tore and bled. He whimpered and yowled, chest heaving with pained breaths. He collapsed there, unable to pull away from the trap. Any movement he tried only tore at his ankle more. He regretted every one of his decisions. Now the beasts would come for him, he’d seen these traps around the forest. He knew they’d come with their loud weapons and their dogs and their claws. Terror ripped through him as the pain did—he didn’t want to die! He tried again to break away, but it was no use. 

 

He eventually quieted down, and the hours passed with him flitting in and out of consciousness. It was dusk before he heard more footsteps, and he snapped back to awareness. 

 

They were here, probably heard his screaming. His chest tightened and he curled in on himself.

 

“ _We got one, Brady—get the muzzle, —oi get the smaller one, it’s a kid—“_

_“—We really gon’a take a baby, Geoffrey?”_

_“Oh yeah, Krennan’ll have a use for ‘er.”_

_“…alright, I’ve got the muzzle. Cart’s back at the road still, Aver’s got it.”_

_“Good man, Brady, Good man, now come on little thing,—“_

 

The man advanced on the pup, and he bared his teeth on reflex, releasing a tiny, thin growl from the back of his throat. 

 

_“—Oh, watch it Geof, even th’ babies have got the curse.”_

_“…yeah, you got the tranq?—“_

_“—Here you go mate,—“_

_“—Thanks, now come on, don’t need to bite do you?”_

 

Geoffrey loaded the tranquilizer dart into his pistol, the silver finish shining in the thin forest light. All of the noises, and then the introduction of the weapon made the pup panic. He thrashed, whining and growled at the same time. Geoffrey huffed, and aimed, muttering, “ _Stop moving already,”_ before taking the relatively easy shot.

 

The pup stopped his thrashing. He slumped against the ground, motionless. 

 

Satisfied, the two men unwound the bear trap and reset it, pulling the baby worgen away and shouldering him like a prize buck.  


“ _What would Krennan even need a baby for?”_

_“I dunno, blood, tests, kid doses. Worst comes to worst, these things are cannibals right?”_

 

Geoffrey let out a hearty laugh, one so confident that Brady couldn’t help but chime in. Brady got good money for this, just enough to keep his family secure. Who was he to question it? He was one of the lucky few who got to hunt these beasts for the crown. He clapped Geoffrey on the shoulder and helped him back to the caged cart, unlocking the door so Geoffrey could slide the pup into the belly of the cart with the adult they’d caught. Their horses snorted, and the two men guided them back towards the wall. The journey back to Duskhaven would take a while, but two worgen was a good haul. 

 

The pup woke up to the sound of another worgen moving around, and the clanking of iron. He sat up slowly, a low disconcerted noise drifting out from the back of his throat. The metal bars of the cage came into focus, as did the sounds of wheels and hoofsteps. The pup was wet, so much so that he shivered—it must have been raining for awhile. He blinked, and tried to move his ankle. He winced, whining. The other worgen looked down at him sharply, “ **You’re awake.”**

 

The pup flinched, eyes flicking upwards. **“Wh-where are we?”**

He looked around, these woods were nothing like Silverpine. These trees were healthy and looked far less dense than those beyond the wall. 

 

**“In a bad place. Be quiet.”**

 

The other worgen nodded gruffly at him, and the pup was more than happy to oblige. He curled back up into a ball, ears twitching at every sound around the two of them. He stared at the rotting wood on the other side of the cart. After maybe ten minutes he whispered, “ **Where are we going?”**

 

The other worgen sighed. **“A worse place. You know the furless?”**

 

The pup nodded, ears back flat against his head. He could at least guess what that word meant: The beasts with loud weapons. 

 

The other’s ears went back, **“They’re taking us into their territory, most likely.”**

 

He whined, curling tighter around himself. With another great sigh, the worgen looked down at him with pity, and ordered, **“Be quiet.”**

 

He obeyed, closing his eyes to block it all out. He wished this was a dream, he wished he was back in the badger den. He fell asleep once again.

 

He awoke to the sound of scraping, jeering, and oddly, triumphant yells. He pushed himself up groggily and leaned against the side of the cart. 

 

The cart was traveling along what now looked like a road, with tall, wooden houses rising up on each side of it. Crowds of furless people, some dressed in shawls and coats, others underneath sheets or drapes, cheered at the two men driving the cart. The pup’s ears flattened once more, and he dropped back to the floor of the cage. The adult worgen snarled and growled at the crowds, spit dripping from his jowls as he tried to look threatening. Some of the crowd were properly scared by the display, but some of the rowdier boys ran up to the side of the cart as it moved and laughed at the worgen. It was infuriating to watch, and even delirious, in pain, and tired, the pup knew how to be humiliated. 

 

The crowds thinned immediately after they left the village proper. Everyone knew not to follow, it was too dangerous—even the boisterous men hung back.

 

 

Geoffrey was having the time of his life, a wide smile still on his face even as they left. His little daughters were in that crowd, and his heart swelled at the thought of being so successful. Their little town was a lucky one, privy to the king's kindness and leniency. They were safe. 

 

Cradled between orchards, mountains, and the sea, their location made them ideal for being the location for the kings most sensitive facilities. Sure, Tempest’s Rest had lots of the nobles, and Keel had their port, but Duskhaven was their hidden jewel. The hills hid away what the king needed them too, and so the townspeople took this responsibility to heart. The general townsfolk knew of the worgen hunts, and were ordered not to speak of them to anyone. The huntsmen knew of the trias, and were ordered to keep their mouths shut. The rumor of an “outbreak” could spread fast in such a small country, and they were the first line of defense this country had in their eyes. It was for everyone’s well being and safety, of course, they wouldn’t dare go against the kings orders. 

 

_“Brady, what’d you say this worgen is what, 10 feet tall?”_ he started with a grin as they passed through the research center’s gates. 

 

_“I’d say 20, maybe more!”_

 

_“Oh yea, Benny’ll have a field day with that, we caught a 20 foot monster and a runt,” he cackled._

 

Brady sniggered, _“I can only imagine. You’ve got quite a name cut out for yourself then, killer o’ beasts n’ monsters.”_

 

A prideful smirk drew Geoffrey’s lips back. He had been named one of the king’s hunters a few months back, when a mysterious sickness had begun to perplex the royal chemist. They needed worgen specimen from beyond the wall, and only the bravest souls would dare go up against the virulent beasts. It was an honor, as much as it was a burden. He loved it.

 

_“Oh I’m sure of it, Brady-boy, your little uns’ll hear about us when they’re born!”_

 

Brady was a determined man. He’d taken up the mantle after his pal Jimmy lost a leg to a worgen’s jaws and was taken in for treatment. He hadn’t seen him in awhile—wasn’t allowed to given how infectious the curse was—but he had hope that with his help, there’d be a cure found. A safe one, one he could give his wife, his unborn baby, his friends, all so they would be safe. The rumors of worgen running through the kingdom were likely poppycock, but he still worried for his wife and his soon to be family. 

He felt humble in his role, but even he could help as much as he could. One of those ways was organizing the transport routes. He’d ran as a courier for awhile, and he knew the quickest ways to get through the countryside without being seen—something certainly helpful for carting worgen deep into the kingdom.

 

Their conversations were met with the hungry, angry, and discontented growls of the adult worgen from the back of the cart. The pup stayed quiet, thoroughly scared into a frozen ball. 

The larger worgen rattled around the cart, trying multiple times, as he had before, to chew through the iron, or to break the cartbed apart. His efforts were in vain, but they definitely amused the two humans. 

 

Geoff and Brady’s chatter echoed as they drove the cart up the hills towards the research building, the boxy, wood-trimmed building coming into view over a hill. Pine trees fenced it in as a natural barrier, though an old stone wall enclosed the area as well. 

 

The king’s auxiliary research center had originally been a butchery house, but it’s uniquely remote location made it ideal. Sums of money were paid, and a new butchery was built—the owner insisted it was a blessing, he’d only built it out that far ‘cause the soil was too rocky to grow anything, drove the lot’s price down. So the king had his facility, equipped with tall fences, outdoor stocks, and plenty of cell space for worgen subjects. 

 

The cart came to a stop in front of the building, an inconspicuous wooden door and set of flower boxes greeting them. It was rather nice looking from the front, though the old posts and pens off to the side for sheep-corralling conveyed the building’s history. 

 

Geoffrey readied another set of tranquilizer darts, and with a pitiful shiver, the pup was out once more, as was the adult worgen. 

 

_“Brady I’ll get the big one n’ you can get the pup alright?”_

_“Sure, Geoff, where’re we bringing these?”_

_“Godfrey wrote down cell 3, but I think Krennan wanted the next ones spaced out. Lets go t’ cell 4_.”

 

 

Both worgen were slung over their shoulders, and brought inside through the front door. Past a small lobby, a branching hallway split off. They took a right, and Geoff unlocked a door, leading into the next hall. Howls, whining, and the odd curse in common greeted them as they walked down the rows of cells. There were only maybe 12 worgen here now, many already tagged and undergoing tests. Geoff led the way down to Cell 4, unlocking it and letting Brady in. A few sets of shackles were hung up, chained to the wall. 

 

Geoffrey shrugged the adult off his shoulders and began chaining him up—the chains were long enough that they could move around the cell, but not any further. Another safety precaution. When Brady went to do the same for the pup, he found that the shackles were too big. The man hummed in thought, looking around the decently clean cell. An ‘a-ha!’ came from him as he noticed the shackles were differently sized. He fastened one from the larger set around his neck instead of his legs, and nodded approvingly. 

 

_“I’ve got this one set, Geoff,—“_

_“Good job, man, I’ve got this beast set as well. Now, let’s go brief the guard,—“_

_“—of course, of course, though, Geoff are you sure the big un’ won’t just, eat the little one?”_

 

Geoff shrugged. _“He hasn’t already.”_

 

Brady couldn’t argue with that, and stepped out of the cell, waiting for Geoff to lock it. He stretched his arms high over his head and smiled, _“Well then, good job mate, a good haul.”_

Geoffrey grinned.

 

_“Aye that it was, Brady, come now.”_

 

_—_

The pup awoke once again in an unfamiliar environment, neck sore. He coughed, and he properly registered the metal shackle around his neck. He instinctually dug his thumbs under the collar and tried tugging it off, though of course, that didn’t do too much for him. It didn’t stop him from trying again and again though.

 

“ **Enough, you’re making me sore just watching you. It won’t come off.”**

 

There were tears in the pup’s eyes as he grumbled, “ **How do you know?”**

 

**“I just do. Wisdom comes with age.”**

 

There was a good deal of anger and snark in the older wolf’s voice, and the pup decided not to push it. He shuffled back to sit against the stone wall and tucked his legs up against his chest. His ankle was still sore, and it hadn’t seemed to heal too well. He was quiet for awhile as the other worgen settled down on one the straw mats tucked up against the corner. Eventually, he spoke again, voice shakey and thin.

 

**“What’s going to happen to us?”**

 

**“I’d guess they’re going to kill us. Or we’ll be made into dogmeat.”**

 

This worgen kept throwing out words that he didn’t know; even the way he spoke was confusing. He seemed knowledgeable, but then again, how could he know? Thinking about that future made him more and more scared so he asked something else. 

 

**“What’s your name?”**

 

He looked over at the worgen, who’d decided to curl up, back to the pup. His back rose and fell with a sigh before he answered the pup.

 

**“Darrow. Do you have one?”**

 

The pup shook his head before remembering Darrow was facing away from him. 

 

**“N-no.”**

 

That was met with a snort, but nothing more. Silence fell—silence, of course, save for the howling of the other worgen. 

 

The pup felt more alone than ever. 

 

**“How’s Runt?”** Darrow’s voice came after awhile. The pup looked over. 

 

**“R…unt?”**

 

**“For a name.”**

 

**“It doesn’t, matter to me,”** the pup,—Runt?—shrugged against the stone. **“Why that?”**

**“Because you’re a runt. You’re too small.”**

 

**“..oh..”**

 

The pup’s brow furrowed a little, the creasing now from thought rather than prolonged fear.

 

**“I’m not small.”**

 

**“You are. Too small. You’d die on your own.”**

 

The pup whined at that, and Darrow rolled over to look at him, chains scraping on the ground with a metallic grind. 

 

**“Stop that.”**

 

**“What?”**

 

**“Whining. It’s pathetic.”**

 

**“I’m scared.”**

 

**“That’s part of life.”**

 

**“I don’t want to die.”**

 

 

 

The older wolf stopped himself from immediately countering that. The pup’s communicatory barks sounded so small, so thin. It was just a puppy there in those chains. He sighed. 

 

**“Not Runt then.”**

 

The pup nodded, and hid his snout in his knees. 

 

**“Seedling? Sapling? Puppy?”**

 

Each suggestion garnered a shake of the pup’s head.

 

**“You’re picky for a runt”**

 

**“Sorry.”**

 

**“And a pushover.”**

 

Darrow’s crassness was clearly not helping the situation. He could see that. But he was angry, hurt, and frustrated. He growled at the air, and ground his jaws together. He closed his eyes again, trying to get comfortable, but after only a few more seconds he heard sobbing. Darrow opened one orange eye, and sure enough, the pup’s shoulders were shaking, ears drawn back. The whining and crying that came from the smaller worgen did wear away at him after a few minutes, and he huffed out a breath as he got up, slinking over to the pup’s side. He sat down right next to him.

 

**“Did you have a pack?”**

 

**“Ye-y-yeah.”**

 

_Tooth and claw_ that was pathetic sounding. Darrow steadied himself.

 

**“They probably miss you?”**

 

Once again, not helping Darrow. The pup let out a wail, and sobbed more.

 

**“I-** **_lost them._ I got lost, I c-ouldn’t smell them, I couldn’t find them.”**

 

Darrow furrowed his brow, and cautiously reached out and moved the pup’s collar, resting the chain on his shoulder so it didn’t pull as much. 

The pup kept crying, and eventually, that broke down Darrow’s defenses. He wrapped one of his arms around the pup, holding him firmly with his paws. The smaller worgen didn’t protest, and after a moment actively leaned into Darrow. Alright. Well, at least the little thing didn’t fight him on that. Physical contact helped, he knew that, hugs helped,—or at least that’s what his pack’s denmother had said. 

 

It took awhile for the pup to quiet down but he did, going more and more quiet in Darrow’s hold. A little too quiet, Darrow wished he could say he didn’t get worried.

 

**“Pup, are you alive?”**

 

A groan confirmed living status.

 

**“I’m going to keep a hold on you, so you don’t start making more noise, okay?”**

 

A small nod.

 

From this angle, Darrow could see the beginnings of a ginger mane on the pup. How odd. He sniffed at it, and then licked the back of the pup’s head to see if it was dirt or something. He’d never seen color like that on a worgen. 

 

**“How’s Red?”**

 

**“…red?”** Another sniffle.

 

**“I’m not going to call you Pup until we die,** ”—a flinch, **“—, or, make..it out. How’s Red?”**

 

**“Okay,”** this time it really did sound like he didn’t care.

 

**“Okay, Red.”**

 

After a few minutes with no response, it became clear to Darrow that Red had gone to sleep. That seemed like a smart idea. He closed his eyes, and let out a snuff through his nose. The other worgen seemed to have quieted down, maybe it was night. He couldn’t tell from here.

 

He fell asleep quickly.


	2. doesn't work, doesn't fly, doesn't handle

Krennan Aranas, Royal Chemist of the Gilnean Crown by order of King Genn Greymane, made his way from his quarters. He followed the huntsmen’s path from yesterday accompanied by an assistant, making his way down the hall of cells before he stopped in front of Cell 4. 

 

_“Ah…now Geoffrey had told me he had a ‘gift’ for me, I’m afraid he’s quite crass, Darcy, but see…I’ve never seen a worgen that young..”_

 

_He combed his fingers through his beard thoughtfully._

 

_“Have they been watered, fed?”_

 

_“Not yet sir.”_

 

_“Make sure to send food this way, we must keep them in as good of health as we dare—less organ failure that way.”_

 

_“Of course, Krennan, sir.”_

 

He observed the sleeping worgen, eyes bright as he thought. 

 

_“Leave these two alone for another day, let them acclimate. We’ll redistribute the subjects between cells as needed. Make sure they’re fed.”_

 

_“Yes, sir.”_

 

_—_

 

Red didn’t wake up for a long time. He’d been far too tired and drained to do anything more than sleep. Darrow, however, did wake somewhere around midday, if he could guess. He laid Red back down against the wall, and stretched himself. His blood burned at the shrieks of the chains as they hit the ground. How humiliating. All around him the yammering of the other captive worgen grew louder as a door echoed down the hall. Darrow’s ears pinned back flat against his mane as he turned his sharp, orange eyes to the front of the cell. Of all the things he could do right now, making his presence known seemed like the worst. To draw the furless’ attention was to draw death to him. He set his rump down carefully on the stone, and sat there motionless, waiting for something to happen.

 

A younger human woman with jet black hair walked down the hall slowly, a large wooden bucket held against her hip with a straining hand. Her other hand was gloved, the leather of which was stained with blood. As she walked, she reached into the bucket and withdrew slabs of meat, all of varying size. Her job was simple, throw meat at the salivating wolf beasts and stay away from the bars. She performed it well. The howling throughout the hallway grew more and more cacophonous as cells received a few greatly desired cuts of stringy meat. She eventually made her way through the row, and to cell four. Darrow flicked one ear forward, eyeing her with a solid stare.   


Her gloved hand entered the bucket’s depths once again, and she tossed them a few cuts of meat. It wasn’t the best quality, but it was certainly more than they’d been given on the journey to this place. Darrow waited until the woman had left before he reached forward to the bloody lumps and took two. 

 

As he ate rather ravenously, Red began to stir at the movement and at the smell. The pup followed his nose sleepily, large ears swiveling to-and-fro as he padded over to the pieces of meat left. He was too drowsy to question it, and pushed his paws down on each end of one of the pieces so he could tuck in. Darrow watched him, ready for the younger to come begging for what he had. He was surprised when Red simply ate what he was left, and curled back up. When he was a pup he stole everyone else’s food, so did his siblings. This was a weird puppy. 

 

**“You shouldn’t eat whatever meat you find,”** he chastised, mostly just to start something.

 

**“…you were eating it.”**

 

Darrow was unfairly angry that Red pointed that out and growled out a huffy breath. 

 

**“I was hungry,”** Red continued, little barks muffled from how he was curled up. **“I just wanted some food.”**

 

**“You should be more careful, and don’t trust stranger worgen.”**

 

**“You’re a stranger?”**

 

**“Yes. Of course I am. Didn’t your pack teach you anything?”**

 

**“They taught me how to hunt….?”**

 

**“Should’ve taught you some sense.”**

 

Red’s head shot up from where he’d tucked it into his paws. He glared at the older worgen as his ears flattened.

 

**“Don’t say that.”**

 

**“Why not? They didn’t even try to teach you anything about life.”**

 

**“You don’t know that.”**

 

**“You’re a stupid puppy.”**

 

**_“And you’re nasty,”_** Red’s eyes were narrowed, and Darrow glared right back at the little pup. His lip curled. 

 

**_“That’s right. I’m nasty,”_** why was he even getting defensive towards a pup? That question made him angrier, **_“So don’t expect anything else, runt.”_**

 

Red’s ears fell from where tension had held them against his head. He looked away and moved further down the wall. Darrow snarled half-heartedly. There was absolutely no reason for this, but something about that stupid, weird runt made this whole situation worse, and until one of those furless came into the cell he had no one else to take it out on. That being said, the sight of one of his own, a child no less, collared and chained to a wall made him sick. He huffed at the ground and turned away from Red, laying back down on the frayed, straw mat. He didn’t move when he heard more pathetic crying coming from the other end of the cell. What a weakling. 

 

The hours passed in tense silence between the two of them. Darrow got up eventually and started up a conversation with one of the other worgen across the hall. The more he looked around at the others the more he felt sick. Many of the others were clearly underfed, many lethargic. It was painful to see, but at least they weren’t being slaughtered yet. 

 

Another furless came around after a while, carrying a thick coil of some snake-like rope. He turned some gear on the wall and Darrow could see water come from the rope. He narrowed his eyes as he watched; the furless went around to each cell, hosing down the worgen first and then filling a bucket for each cell, which the worgen went after, drinking greedily. Red had turned to watch as well, ears and tail laying tense as the man walked over to their cell. The furless looked them over and seemingly decided to forgo the forced bath. He filled their bucket and left. 

 

Red stayed where he was, obviously deferring to Darrow in this hierarchy. Darrow appreciated the respect but shoved the bucket towards the pup.

 

**_“Pushover. Drink.”_ **

 

Red glared at him, but did. His tiny, pink tongue darted out of his muzzle as he drank from the bucket, lapping up as much as he could. He was gasping by the time he had to stop himself, and Darrow rolled his eyes, pulling the bucket away from him. He withheld his comments this time in favor of drinking, himself. Afterwards, he pushed the half-full bucket to the middle of the cell and went back to his corner. He didn’t quite sleep, but he did settle into the boredom. Red seemed no better off. 

 

Red hated this. He didn’t understand what he’d done to make the adult worgen angry with him, but he’d clearly messed up. Darrow’s offer of first drink had confused him more than anything though. What did that mean? Why was he so inconsistent? He’d still been rude, but, that was par for the course it seemed. Red, at least, had a lot to think about as he laid there tucked against the cold stone. 

 

—

 

Pleased with the news that all the worgen had eaten and drank, Krennan shooed the attendants off to their quarters. He had much to plan for the next day, and so he lit his oil lamps and sat down at his desk with his pen. It was well into the night before he came up with a solid plan: intense treatment, and then periods of rest. So far his attempts at rigorous treatment, and then more relaxed structures hadn’t born much fruit. He hypothesized that there were necessary conditions for a worgen to come back to lucidity, so he needed to figure out how to speed up that process, and to also prevent against it in the first place. Tricky. 

 

His old bones ached deeply, so he decided to retire for the night. Shutting off his lamp, he withdrew from his desk and pushed his chair back. He laid down on the cot he kept in his office, and easily fell asleep, dreaming of blue skies and new concoctions.

 

—

 

Red’s day started out suddenly. He was sleeping, and then suddenly not. In a flurry of light, clanking chains, and the sound of doors opening he saw Darrow be tranquilized, and his own conscious fade nearly as quickly. On and off like a light switch. 

 

He woke again in a different room, this one made of a smoother stone. There were no windows, and no discernible sounds or smells. He tried to get up, but he quickly realized that he was held to the surface he laid on. He wriggled back and forth, hearing the leather of the straps creak. He growled unhappily, and let off a few warning barks. 

 

A human laugh met his barking, and the door over in the opposite corner opened and closed as a man walked in. 

 

_“You sound just like a mastiff, a mastiff pup I suppose. Now, you mustn’t thrash too much, it would be best if we can see how this affects your system without a sedative in you as well. Good morning, by the way. My name is Krennan, do you have a name?”_

 

The words meant nothing to Red, and only served to make him uneasy. He barked a few more times, threateningly, with little growls in between. The man nodded amicably. 

 

_“I wasn’t sure if you would understand…we haven’t seen any worgen children before, see human children’s brains are far more malleable than adult brains. Maybe the curse reduces your capacity for learning…interesting.”_

 

Krennan walked around the table, inspecting Red from a distance.

 

_“Juvenile, certainly, female, irregular fur patterning, ah, red fur? Interesting…and a tail, tails, why do some of you have them and others do not…? A difference in your underlying skeleton clearly, but from which form…”_

 

Krennan turned to a tray of tools and vials which lay beyond Red’s reach--if he could move his arms, that was. At the moment any movement other than turning his neck was beyond his control. Krennan hummed to himself as he selected two vials, and added them together into a third container. 

 

_“I know you cannot understand, but perhaps this will stir your mental faculties if I explain. If I bore you I apologize,” the man laughed heartily. “This is a mixture of Earthroot, Firebloom and a handful of potent chemicals. We’re still testing the ratios, there may be little burn.”_

 

Red growled more the longer the man talked. He didn’t like the unfamiliar sounds, nor the harsh, louder noises the man made every once in awhile. He struggled again against the restrictive leather pieces as Krennan came over with the vial and a needle. He plunged the needle into the solution, just inches away from the pup on the table. Red snapped at his sleeve when is dangled near his snout, and pulled, whipping his head to the other side. “What—,” Krennan yelped, and nearly dropped the instruments in his hands. He easily yanked his sleeve back, eyebrows furrowed.

 

_“I suppose it wouldn’t be that easy now would it, come now you mustn’t bite.”_

 

Krennan set the vial and needle down and turned away once more, taking a mess of wire and leather off the tray. he used his protected forearm to firmly force Red’s snout to the side, clamping it shut as he wiggled the muzzle on. Red’s heart choked on a beat, and he began to shake. He couldn’t protect himself at all.

 

_“That may be a bit tight, we’ll see about getting a better one then…yes, yes, good. But now you can’t bite, this will go much smoother.”_

 

He returned to his preparations, and once ready, returned to Red’s side. He tapped his fingers down Red’s forearm, feeling for where he needed to input the needle. He muttered as he looked, ‘hm’s’, ‘mm’s’, and ‘no’s’ filling the still air. Finally, he found what he needed, and without any warning pushed the needle into Red’s arm. 

 

A thin, muffled scream left the pup’s shut muzzle. He tried to wriggle away again but Krennan had a good grip on his arm. Tears pricked at his eyes and his chest swooped as Krennan withdrew the needle moments later. He disposed of the tool in a wastebasket and hummed.

 

_“That should begin to take effect, in…a few minutes. We will reassess in ten minutes.”_

 

Just like that, Krennan left, and Red was left alone to panic. He whined, whimpered, and tried to move but there was absolutely nothing he could do. As the minutes drifted by the potion began to tingle, and suddenly he began to sweat. His fur dampened, and he tried to pant to alleviate some of it but the muzzle was clamped too tight. He whined more as he began to shake, a deep ache piercing his muscles. It only grew worse; a burn began to flood his veins, and he started crying properly. The tears leaked down the side of his face, and it was mere seconds before he passed out, body still shivering and burning. 

 

Krennan returned to an unconscious pup, and he tutted gently. He ran his palm over Red’s arm, feeling how damp with sweat it had become.

 

_“Oh dear…I had hoped the Firebloom would simply complete the compounds, not warm you this much….well, that is something good to know.”_

He tapped each side of Red’s face a few times, waiting for him to wake up. Sure enough, as the worst of the potion passed, Red came back to consciousness, now groggy and sore. 

 

_“Shall we try a gentler mix then, perhaps….this afternoon? Or maybe this evening….perhaps the base serum should be fiddled with, for a child’s dose…but then again,” the mumbling of a research scientist ensued, and Krennan lifted a hand to pinch his beard. “It will be something to test! Well done, little one, you’ll prove quite valuable after all.”_

 

Krennan left once again, this time for much longer. Another furless came in, and Red began to whimper again. He could hear the woman sigh and mutter to herself before another needle was plunged into his arm. He went limp in the bindings, and the furless woman undid the straps, leaving the muzzle where it was. She carried him back through the halls to the cells and placed him on one of the mats in cell 4. Now that he was muzzled, the woman didn’t feel the need to chain him, so she simply locked the cell and left. Darrow too, it would appear, had been taken out for one thing or another. Red curled up on the mat, unconscious and in pain. 


End file.
